My Unique Experience With a Realtor (Part Two)

Photo: Pexels.com

A continuation of Tuesday's blog...

The realtor and I started to go to the various rooms, one after another, rooms which I had often seen because I stayed there when I returned for a visit. I had no idea what to ask or say to show her I was serious and knowledgeable about buying a house.

Having heard advertisements about Andersen Windows on television, I tried to look and sound smart by asking, "Are these Andersen Windows?"

"Yes," she answered.

At one point, she asked me, "What does your husband do?"

My quick response was, "Oh, he's a carpenter. We live and work in the cities and are interested in moving out into a smaller town in the rural area. He's looking at houses in Willmar and I'm here."

A little later in the tour, the realtor asked, "How many children do you have?"

"None," I replied. At least that was a true response. I could tell that she was beginning to wonder about his weird person who had no children, only one question, yet was interested in this spacious bungalow house with a full basement, a big yard and a garden.

We ended up in the kitchen where we started. Handing me a yellow legal pad and pencil, she asked, "Would you like to sign here, please?"

"No, I'd rather not."

"Sign your husband's name," she said.

"No, I'd rather not. He doesn't like when I sign his name without his approval." By the look on her face, I knew she was thinking, "What a strange woman."

She continued, "Could you give me your phone number where I could reach you if I find a good deal?"

"I'd rather not," I answered.

Looking at her and thanking her for the tour, I could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking, "There is something weird about this person."

I was never so relieved as when I left to get into the car and drive to Clara City to Shorty's brother's house. As I reported as closely as possible all the things she had said about the house and the various rooms, we also laughed hard about "my little white lies" and the uncomfortableness of the world experience. While they enjoyed the humor in it, they also were very apologetic for having put me through this ordeal.

After it was all over, and having shared the experience with Shorty and Dorothy, getting many laughs made it all worthwhile. It was another fun time with them, but there was never another encounter with a realtor.

Margaret Mandernach, OSB

This story was written for Stories Like You've Never Heard Before..., a compilation of stories written by Sister Margaret Mandernach.

My Unique Experience With a Realtor (Part One)

Photo: Pexels.com

After I left my job as director of religious education for two parishes, Raymond and Clara City, Minn., I sometimes came back to visit my wonderful, retired neighbors, Dorothy and Shorty, during the summer.

While I worked there from 1983–85, I was asked to move into the big empty rectory in Raymond, and the pastor lived in the rectory in the neighboring town, Clara City. Why rent an apartment when the spacious rectory stood empty?

My friendly, retired neighbors Dorothy and Shorty were aware that I lived alone and, wanting to reach out to me, gave me a standing invite each evening at 5 p.m. for what they humorously called "Holy Hour." This consisted of homemade wine (made by Shorty), sausage, cheese and crackers followed by a luscious meal made by Dorothy. Not only were they most welcoming, but Shorty's humor, calling our time together a "Holy Hour," was a very attractive quality. So with his many good qualities, I was not surprised when I learned that he once was the mayor of the town and made the construction plans for Raymond's first golf course.

One Sunday after having left my ministry there, I returned to attend the 10:30 a.m. Mass in Raymond, followed by going out for breakfast with Dorothy and Shorty. At one point in the conversation, Shorty said, "We are moving into assisted living in Willmar, so our house is for sale. We have a favor to ask of you. Would you go to our house in Raymond at 3 p.m. this afternoon when the realtor will give a tour of the house? We are curious and interested in hearing what she tells about the house and the various rooms." My guess was that they wanted me to hear whether she uses the description they had given her.

I replied, "I would love to do that for you in return for all your kindnesses and holy hours while I worked here."

After breakfast, we left to visit Shorty's brother in Clara City until close to 3 p.m. when I left to go back to Raymond for the tour of their house.

I arrived a few minutes before the tour began. "Welcome, how are you?" the realtor asked.
Since no one else was there, she continued, "We'll wait for a few minutes." No one else showed up, so she said, "I guess we'll start."

I was getting nervous, hoping someone REALLY interested in buying a house would still be coming. 
I knew nothing about buying a house or what to ask and was getting more nervous. I thought to myself, "Should I be honest and tell her that I am not interested, but that I am here only to report back to a friend all that was said about the rooms and house?" My quick decision was to go ahead and learn about the house so I could keep my promise and return with a report of all she said about the house.

Check back on Thursday to hear how her experience went!

Margaret Mandernach, OSB

This story was written for Stories Like You've Never Heard Before..., a compilation of stories written by Sister Margaret Mandernach.

A Little Nudge

A road through the woods of Itasca State Park,
taken by Sister Laura Suhr

For a long time, I have been feeling a funny nudge inside. Another word for nudge might be a longing. It was as though God has been trying to get my attention. I’ve learned that a godly longing is really a prompt by God. The 14th-century anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing calls this longing a leash. Well, I’m not a dog, but at least a faithful dog only needs a gentle tug on a leash to come along. So I follow the gentle tug in my heart.

What I finally surmised was that God wanted me to take an extended period away from the ordinary schedule to be with God. But where? How? I now find myself living the answer. My wife and I are about to begin our fourth week of sequestration. Life has slowed down for us, way down. We live by ourselves in a very old farmhouse tucked behind trees and opening to fields and woods. It has become a holy time, a time for silence and prayer as well as the round of meals, reading. Time to read that special book that we’ve been putting off. Time to really see what is important and to act on it. Writing letters to loved ones, the lonely. We are far away from daughters, son-in-law and grandchildren, so we have had a Zoom birthday celebration. Not the same, but we are able to focus on what and who is important.

Our world and national situation is not of our making, yet, I believe we can make it a holy time, a god-full time. It makes us realize that, in Christ, we are all one, and are intimately involved with each other.

Charles Preble, OblSB

Pause and Pray

Sister Leonore Mandernach praying in the
Oratory, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer

How do you live each day? After I read a quote by Muhammad Ali, “Don’t count the days. Make the days count,” I was energized by these words with a desire to learn how to live my life to the fullest each day. After prayer and reflection, I realize the power of the words lies within each of us. So, I began to think that in order to do just as the quote inspires me, I simply need to listen to my body and breathe in each moment of each day. 

So, now I do this every morning; when I end my private prayer, I take time to reflect upon each breath; I take it in and then let it go. By doing this natural life-sustaining act in a slow manner, I am aware of being alive. A breath can also become a pause in my day, a reminder to stay present in the moment, a reminder to make the day count, to live it to the fullest. 

I believe that as I practice breathing slowly, everything else will fall into place. I will not rush through an activity, no matter how full my day may be; I want to remember that each moment is important. As we live through the coronavirus, as we stay at home, remember to pause and pray. At Saint Benedict’s Monastery, we have created pauses during our prayer hours, a minute or two to breathe and reflect on the reading we have just listened to.

If you would like more information about our common journey, please contact Sister Lisa Rose at lrose@csbsju.edu.

Lisa Rose, OSB

Empty

Sacred Heart Chapel decorated for a previous
Easter celebration, taken by Susan Sink

I usually wear seven rings. It’s not as flashy as it sounds. They aren’t full of jewels, and they all have a history. A couple of weeks ago I removed all my rings. I thought I would be able to do a better job of washing my hands in this period of vigilance during the COVID-19 pandemic.

I like my bare hands. When I see them empty, I feel as though I am living more simply, down to the basics. They look brave, ready for simple tasks and easy to fold in prayer.

I see emptiness all around me now. My calendar is empty. My cupboards and pantry have empty spaces as I’m taking time to use supplies I already had. When I see empty shelves in the grocery store, I remind myself that I have enough or I can do without.

It is Lent, and the church pews are empty. This is my greatest sorrow, that I cannot join others in singing and praying and hearing the Word. Beyond sorrow is not knowing when there will be wine in the chalice and bread on the plate again.

A few days ago, I asked myself how I could bear Easter, the first time in my long life that I would not be in church on that glorious Sunday. And then I heard a voice say to me, “You will rejoice, for you will find the tomb empty.”

Marge Lundeen, OblSB

Daily Diary

Photo: Pexels.com

Frederick Buechner, one of my favorite email pastors, writes, "Even the most cursory of diaries can be of incalculable value. What the weather was doing. Who we ran into on the street. The movie we saw. The small boy at the dentist's office. The dream. Just a handful of the barest facts can be enough to rescue an entire day from oblivion—not just what happened in it, but who we were when it happened. Who the others were. What it felt like back then to be us." (info@frederickbuechner.com)

Based on his insights, I would like to extend an invitation to you and your family, these ordinary days of "lockdown" or "stay at home" changes created by coronavirus! Why not start a diary? Each day, a different member of your family could enter her/his account of what that day offered to the writer. Enough to "rescue an entire day from oblivion!" Wow!

Buechner continues: "It is a mark of wisdom to realize how precious our days are, even the most uneventful of them (although none of us would deny the weight of the events in our world in this present situation). If we can keep them alive by only a line or so about each, at least we will know what we're sighing about when the last of the them comes." (Originally published in his Beyond Words).

So, sing with me and then go write about it:

"Day by day

Day by day

Oh, dear Lord

Three things I pray

To see thee more clearly

Love thee more dearly

Follow thee more nearly

Day by day..."

The second stanza is a repetition of this one! We even have the time to sing it again...before putting pen to paper! Twenty-five years from now, others may be interested in reading our diaries! So will our children and grandchildren!

Renée Domeier, OSB

Almost Home

Front view of the Gathering Place

One thousand miles to Saint Benedict’s Monastery is an adventure on several levels.

I was driving alone. I have no sense of direction. Full disclosure: I’m ambidextrous. When you say “left or right” to me, it hardly ever makes sense. Please do not suggest a GPS. I don’t do tech very well either.

Living close to the border, getting out of Tennessee was no problem. Navigating lush green Kentucky hills quickly turned into winter grass and flatland farms of Illinois. Lucky for me, only one change in interstate.

I began to think how this graphic terrain experience could symbolize my spiritual journey. Sometimes I’m surprised by rich color of one gospel passage and how it brings me to some new understanding. Often one word will strike me with a whole new way of looking at reality. Exciting and exhilarating for the moment I’m propelled into new resolve. But! Like the flatlands, I soon find myself back in the ordinary, yearning for some new experience.

Abruptly my reflection was interrupted. I was at the Wisconsin border. Choosing the right interstate, I was confronted with a fork in the highway. Both were labeled I-94. I took the wrong one. It was getting dark. I wondered at the wisdom of driving so late in a strange place. Saw a sign for Best Western and turned in, relieved.

I realized how often I had taken the wrong fork in the road as I traveled my life journey. I’d end up having to ask forgiveness or totally change my way of living.

Morning brought light and absolution. Backtracking and crossing into Minnesota, I whispered, “Thank you, God.” Absolved. I knew I would soon see tall buildings pop up from the prairie into the bustle of Minneapolis and St. Paul.

Beyond that, the horizon would expose the DOME. My heart beat faster. As a teenager, the DOME at Saint Benedict’s became my symbol for safety and healing, for love and learning, for all I am and all I yearn to be. I was almost home.

I began to sing.

Pat Pickett, OblSB